Sunday, February 22, 2015


Tonight I was in a restaurant with my entire family. My family never seems very big to me until we decide to gather in a public place. Then it feels like an entire nation of people. And also I think we usually look like a big polygamist group because the women outnumber the men and most of my nieces and nephews look to be about the same age.

If only I could convince my sisters into polygamy hair.

The kids were tired. A couple of them were falling asleep at the table. All of them looked like they were twenty minutes from a total meltdown. Some of the adults appeared that way, too. By the time we were leaving the restaurant, I think everyone was looking forward to just getting all of the children home, pumped full of Ambien, lights out, and in bed.

JUST KIDDING! We aren't that irresponsible! We use nightlights for the little ones.

It was raining so the "men" had gone out to get the cars while the rest of us waited just inside the front area of the restaurant. I put the word "men" in quotation marks so you would be clued in that the word doesn't have the same definition in my family as it might in yours, and it certainly doesn't include me. 

In my family, the men are the dads and my younger and very pregnant sister Micalyne, who I often call "the son Bob never had." The women are the females, minus my younger sister Micalyne. The children are anyone under 18. And I'm the prodigal son who swears in front of the kids and hasn't given Bob and Cathie 40 grandchildren yet.

On a side note, I'm not one bit upset about not being one of the men in the family because it usually means that I don't have to trek out into the rain and get the car or be in charge of the barbecue.  

We waited inside, holding up the kids who were so tired they could barely stand. Things seemed peaceful. We were ready to go. 

And then, suddenly, 8-year-old nephew leaned forward and barfed ALL over the floor. 

I saw it happen. It made a splashing sound. I smelled it. I was standing just next to him. But it took a few seconds to compute. And I think that was the case for everyone else too because we all sort of just stood around him for much longer than you would expect not really saying or doing anything about it. 

And then pandemonium struck. 

You see, my family, my flesh and blood, the people I love more than I love anyone else in this world, aren't great in barf crisis. I know this because when I was seven and I threw up all over the family tent at 1:00 in the morning the last time we went camping together, Bob hauled us all into the car and drove us home and Cathie rode with her head out the window, only pulling it back into the car long enough to periodically inform me that I was going to be dropped off at the next boarding school we passed.

In her defense, I had thrown up a corn dog. Projectile vomit. Seven times. And, although probably unintentional, one of the projections hit her square in the face.

When my nephew blew his chunks, my family members began to scatter. It was every man for himself. Children fled to the parking lot. My siblings tried to blend into the crowd, mostly out of embarrassment. Someone had the good sense to quickly pull the nephew outside so he could aim the rest of his EXCESSIVE puking into some bushes. 

The nephew's mother took responsibility for the indoor disaster while the nephew's father tried to get him cleaned up outside. My sister hovered over the puke, politely ushering people away from it while Bob went searching for someone who worked there. Cathie stood in a corner, her nose upturned and an ever-so-slight but constant head-shaking.

This all seemed like pretty good timing since my other nephew had urinated on me earlier in the day in a place and time in which I could not get to a change of clothes for many hours.

We finally got into the cars and fled the scene. A scene to which we are positive we are not welcome to return. The nephew confirmed that he actually felt pretty good now and was maybe even a little hungry again so could we please get some mac n' cheese on the way home? 

I'm probably done eating for a while. 

~It Just Gets Stranger


  1. Stinkin' Hilarious!


  2. So glad I decided to read this while I ate my breakfast...

    I have absolutely no maternal instincts whatever. Never have. But for some reason, I had my nephew out one day and we were eating ice cream when he decided he'd had enough of that ice cream and gave it back. For some reason, I stuck my hand out and caught the givebacks. My mother laughed hysterically and said she'd never seen anything like that and would never do that herself. And she's a nurse.

    1. Kjax...I'm right there with you eating my breakfast, and then WHAM!

      DUDE! Some of us read these columns in the morning while we're EATING! I swear you put these stories up on purpose just to gross us out. You probably have camera's hooked up somewhere watching me eat and then as soon as I read your graphic tale, I'm just like "OK...I'm done" and put my food down.

      I hate puking stories...stop it! I'm gonna have body shivers all day long now thinking about this.

  3. Years ago, my daughter did the projectile vomit routine while we were checking out at Blockbuster. (I SAID it was years ago.) Like you and your family, we all stood there for a while just sort of marveling at the mess and stunned at its sudden appearance. Finally, the Blockbuster employees (most of whom were high schoolers, if that) started running around trying to figure out if they had a mop or paper towels or ANYTHING they could use to mop it up because it was directly in front of the check out desk. I heard/saw several people put down their movies and quietly exit the store. And now you know why Blockbuster went bankrupt.

  4. I have never been able to deal with the sight/sound/smell of vomit--it starts me dry-heaving out of control. Once, when I was pregnant with my second child (and all my senses were heightened), my oldest child threw up all over the carpeting in the middle of the night. My sweet husband knew of my inability to deal with vomit, and sent me back to bed saying he would take care of cleaning it up. I went back to bed, and next thing I know, I hear the sound of the vacuum. He figured that it was on the carpet, so the vacuum was the way to clean it up. (It was not a wet/dry shop vac--it was a nice upright vacuum with rotating brushes.) I tried taking the vacuum apart to clean it, but ended up having to throw it away because every time I used it I could still smell the vomit. So here's your helpful household tip for the day: If you need to clean up vomit on carpeting, don't use a vacuum.

    1. this is the best! i also have one of those sweet, well-meaning husbands who doesn't always get it quite right. bless their hearts.

  5. OK someone please explain polygamy hair to me. I'm afraid to Google it.

    1. It's ok, just google it. It's nothing bad. It's just kind of like a poofy upturned hair on the top and then into some kind of ponytail thingy.

  6. Oh, wow. That's awful! And by "awful" I mean "hilarious"!

  7. I was reading this with a kid in my classroom finishing a test. It was so hard not to laugh. Love your stories.
    I hate Vomit so bad, I have a gag reflex with smells. But I worked an outdoor education job for 4 years where It was a regular occurrence. We would call it a code Rainbow on the radios. The worst was when the kids had fruit punch and Hot dogs. Bleah!!! If we are sharing stories one night a camper was sleeping on the top bunk and when he vomited it fell onto the kid on the bottom bunk and that kid never woke up from it. I almost died thinking of vomit falling on to me while i slept. Fun Times.

  8. Oh my I laughed out loud. I am a mom who would have just added to the mess with one sniff. Thankfully my husband has always been there to deal with that.

  9. My first year teaching I taught 2nd grade. One of my students threw up right in the middle of a reading lesson and instead of going to the sink that was 18 inches behind him he tried to catch it and it ended up in his desk. He must have had chicken noodle soup for breakfast because that is what it looked like. I think I might have freaked out a bit in my head. But like the good teacher that I was hoping I was at the time I held in my gag reflex, opened the door and windows, sprayed some Lysol, called the office for the custodian, sent him to the clinic, and continued my lesson pretty much in that order. The kitty litter stuff that they use to clean it up didn't help with the smell. Luckily since then I have not had anymore puking in my classroom as I moved onto middle school and now I teach high school and my students are informed if they feel like they are going to blow chunks they are to just go to the bathroom no pass needed. Hashtag teacher problems...

  10. I use to waitress at a restaurant. On a busy Saturday night a group of heathens came in, one of whom reeked of Boones farm and cheap vodka. I had the pleasure of waiting on them. I was getting a drink order when the stinking drunk one turned green and proceeded to projectile vomit all over the table,the wall, a few of his friends and on the floor. I was just about ready to lose it when another employee came running over with an empty tea pitcher for him to use as he was escorted through the dining room and into the restroom. I swear I got phantom whiffs of it until the day I quit,and still to this day I will never let my drink be refilled with a tea pitcher I always ask for a new glass.

  11. Oh that poor child!! I was the kid who threw up in a public place once. I was in elementary school. I went up to the teacher to tell her that I wasn't feeling good and asked for the bathroom pass. She wouldn't let me go because we were about to start some project or something and she was about to explain it. I repeated to her that I wasn't feeling good and she yelled at me to go sit at my desk. Less than 5 min later, I threw up all over my desk and the desk of the boy sitting next to me.
    After the look of shock that she gave me, she told me that I could go to the bathroom. HAHA! I think i told her that I didn't need to go to the bathroom anymore but asked if I could go to the office to call my mom instead...she didn't fight me with that request.

  12. Your family went to a restaurant on a SUNDAY???